


Sakusa Kiyoomi: Courtesy of a Lover's Friend

by pelita



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Komori pov, Other Characters Are Mentioned, Post-Time Skip, angst if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28735365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelita/pseuds/pelita
Summary: “I want to go against them.” Kiyoomi’s words were barely audible under these noisy crowds, and Motoya had never been more glad to hear them. He wished he could capture the icy look in Kiyoomi’s eyes and frame it to commemorate the moment. Motoya didn’t need confirmation to know that volleyball was no longer only a way for Kiyoomi to kill time.“Both,” Kiyoomi said, “I want to go against Wakatoshi-kun more, though. But Inarizaki seems… fun too.”Ah, such rare words to hear from a Sakusa Kiyoomi. Motoya smiled. “Well, then let’s make sure we don’t lose.”Sakusa Kiyoomi is guilty of love, and Motoya is the witness
Relationships: Komori Motoya & Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Sakusa Kiyoomi: Courtesy of a Lover's Friend

**Author's Note:**

> hi !! today i present to you a gen fic of sakusa & komori cause they won't leave my mind !
> 
> before you proceed, please read the content warnings down below.
> 
> cw: unhealthy sibling dynamics , family issues (implied)

Motoya can't remember the first time he met Kiyoomi.

He can try—dig down to the depths of his mind and attempt to claw out one single memory. But he’s not sure if it will ever work. When your family line is close to someone else’s, their existence will feel like a piece of built-in information that has always been engraved in your mind.

Motoya doesn’t know why the thought appears when he and Kiyoomi are in the middle of this hustle. Streams of people are rushing through the gleaming halls and dividing themselves at each intersection. It’s the kind of early morning rush that everyone hates, including Motoya himself. 

Motoya rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and stifles a yawn. “Why did you have to choose a morning train?” he complains to a grumpy Kiyoomi sitting next to him.

“There was a discount.”

How is it real that they’re here now? About to part ways once again and be separated by the acres of land.

“It’s almost time. Come on, Motoya, let’s go.” Kiyoomi stands up from his seat, drags his suitcase away from its resting spot, and waits for Motoya to follow. Soon after, they make their way to the gates, and it truly feels unreal. 

It doesn't feel like eighteen years ago when Motoya was just a confused boy with uneven cut hair who barely knew how to count. It doesn't feel like eighteen years ago when he was still a petty kid who refused to play with his curly-haired cousin. 

That's as far as his memory goes. His earlier life may further and further decay from his mind, but Kiyoomi will always stay. Kiyoomi has been there with him right from the very start, _and he remembers._

At the age of five, when Motoya dragged his feet into the Sakusa household, it was certainly not by his own choice. 

_"But I don't want to go!"_ Motoya had whined as he sat in front of his mother's feet. As a child, it wasn’t his wisest decision. He should have seen that good five minutes of scolding coming. 

He remembered roughly how it went. Kiyoomi was his cousin so he should learn how to get along with him. Kiyoomi was a nice boy who never complained, and he should learn to be more like him. Kiyoomi would be sad if he heard about what Motoya said about him. Kiyoomi was this and Kiyoomi was that. But his mother persistently highlighted that Kiyoomi didn’t have many friends, and he often looked like he was lonely. 

Unfortunately, sympathy did not strike a petty child such as Motoya. Back then, all he could think about was how none of those were his problems. Which they weren’t, and that was exactly why he didn’t care. In spite of that, he still ended up in the Sakusa family’s home, sitting on one side of the kotatsu while Kiyoomi bit his nails on the other side. It wasn’t like he could go against his mother’s wishes just like that. So there he was.

Sakusa Kiyoomi never changed. Even as a child, he never wasted an ounce of his energy on unnecessary talking. If Motoya hadn’t been the one to voluntarily start the conversation, they would have ended up exchanging nothing but silence for the whole evening. Maybe that was one of the reasons why Motoya didn’t like him. _Maybe_.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Motoya asked, finally, after what he thought was five minutes of mere silence.

Kiyoomi didn’t bother to say anything or even look at him. He simply shook his head while his eyes remained glued to the table.

“But why?”

Kiyoomi shrugged. He was lucky that even as a child, Motoya had a lot of patience within him.

He sighed and looked down at the item sitting on his lap—a Tupperware full of pickled plums that his mother had made specifically for Kiyoomi. According to his mother, Kiyoomi’s favorite food to snack on was pickled plums. Motoya thought that seems a little odd. How did his mother know what Kiyoomi likes anyway?

It shouldn’t have mattered, though. Motoya had no other things to do or say, and he was in no mood to put in extra effort for Kiyoomi of all people.

“Anyway, ‘Kaa-san told me to give you this.” Motoya lifted the Tupperware from his lap and placed it on top of the kotatsu, right in front of Kiyoomi. He didn’t know if he was only imagining it or not, but it seemed that Kiyoomi’s eyes actually lit up at the sight of the food.

“Umeboshi?” Kiyoomi finally spoke, and at that moment, Motoya realized why he refused to open his mouth any sooner. Two of his teeth were missing, and they happened to be the front teeth which are the ones that were very visible to anyone’s eyes. 

Motoya was only a child who had a vague understanding of politeness, he couldn’t help it. He clutched his stomach and started laughing like he had no shame at all. Another bad idea, of course, because Kiyoomi’s face immediately burned red, and pools of tears were already forming in his eyes.

“S- stop laughing.” Kiyoomi banged on the kotatsu table. Still, Motoya continued laughing, the sight was too amusing for him to handle. So Kiyoomi turned away, pulling his knees against his chest and hid his face in them.

“K- Kiyoomi-kun. You… you…” Motoya choked on his laughter, and he laughed, and he laughed, and he laughed even more. “I- I’m sorry that was just… too funny.”

Motoya was wiping away his residue laughter tears when he heard the sniffles coming from Kiyoomi. _Oh no_.

“Wait!” Motoya panicked and rushed to Kiyoomi’s side as fast as he could. If his mother found out about this, she is going to be _so_ mad at him. “I- I didn’t mean to make you cry, Kiyoomi-kun. I’m sorry.”

Kiyoomi gave him no response; the sniffles and stifled sobs continued. Motoya placed a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to offer some comfort.

“Kiyoomi-kun? I’m sorry. Please stop crying.”

Still no response.

“Hey, come on. I… I didn’t mean anything bad. I just thought it was, uhh.” Motoya paused as he struggled to find the right things to say. “Cute! That’s all. I wasn’t trying to make fun of you or anything,” he continued, his voice gradually getting smaller at each passing word.

Something must have been flicked inside Kiyoomi’s heart because, after a long while, the younger boy looked up. “C- cute?” 

“Yeah, cute!” Motoya answered, as enthusiastically as he could, “I mean, I have a missing tooth too but you just can’t see it. It’s right here.”

Motoya opened his mouth and stretched open his lips using his finger to reveal the small gap between his two molars. 

Kiyoomi stared and slightly tilted his head. Then he looked down to his feet before muttering a few things that Motoya would have not heard if this room weren’t completely silent. “It’s just… Onii-san laughed at me too when he saw, and he called me ugly.”

“Haruto Onii-san?” Motoya asked, and Kiyoomi nodded his head at the mention of his older brother.

“Mmhmm, he said I looked like”— _sniffles_ —“a little goblin.”

“Aw,” Motoya said, making sure to give Kiyoomi a few rubs on his back for comfort, “I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

Kiyoomi didn’t say anything. He drew his knees closer to his body and once again hid his face between them. The sniffling continued.

“I know!” Motoya cheered as an idea appeared in his head. “Let’s cheer you up, Kiyoomi-kun! I know just the right thing to do.”

The idea Motoya had in mind was none other than playing the good old game, hide and seek. He didn’t expect Kiyoomi to agree with it so easily, but he did. So there they were for the past half an hour, frantically running around the home in search of a space big but remote enough to hide them.

" _Gotcha!_ " Motoya had yelled when he finally found Kiyoomi hiding under the kotatsu after what he thought was ten minutes of searching. Motoya wanted to smack his own head for not thinking to search at one of the most obvious places to hide.

Hiding in such a small and deprived-of-air space was enough to completely wear Kiyoomi off. Motoya suggested they take a break. They huddled back under the soft fabric of the kotatsu; this time, they sat next to each other. The Tupperware full of pickled plums was still there in front of them waiting to be devoured. Kiyoomi took the first move to open the lid. They ended up sharing them afterward.

Motoya still had a long way to go in terms of discovering the depths of Kiyoomi. His love and everything else must be dug down far beneath the surface. This day and moment was just the start of it all—the first few scoops of the shovel.

The pickled plums were slowly disappearing until a quarter of its original number were left. That was when Kiyoomi picked up the Tupperware and fitted the lid back on.

“Are you full already?” Motoya asked.

“No… but I want to save some for Haruto onii-san.” Kiyoomi clutched the plastic container with his small fingers. “Can I?” He continued.

“But I thought Haruto onii-san was mean to you.”

“Mmm yeah but I think, maybe, if I do something nice to him, he will be nicer to me too.” Kiyoomi pursed his lips and looked down to his feet. Motoya couldn’t miss the glum look he was making.

At that exact moment, Motoya thought he learned a single lesson in life. Not all souls were exactly what they appeared to be. Perhaps, he should have spent more of his time in the company of Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

Motoya grew up, and so did Kiyoomi. They grew up and they got their hands on volleyball—a sport dedicated to toss around and prevent a ball from hitting the surface. There was something about that concept which Motoya learned to love. It was almost _poetic_ to his eyes. He lived on constantly craving the sense of fulfillment he would get when a ball bounced perfectly off his wrist.

Kiyoomi was not the same as him. If he had learned to love volleyball sometime during his life, it was not at the point where he just started the sport. He started it and kept up with it only because he had nothing else he wanted to do. When you were a child, you possessed _far_ more free time than you ever needed. He needed to kill those times somehow. 

For something that unmistakably _wasn’t_ his passion, Kiyoomi still put a large amount of effort into what he did. He was never one to do anything half-heartedly. He sought things right until the very end. It was his best quality, and volleyball was only one prospect of his life. There were more, _much more_.

Time passed like the chill breeze on a windy day and, in a blink of an eye, Motoya and Kiyoomi were high school first-years. 

They wore Itachiyama Academy’s well-known neon yellow and green jersey with pride as they stood inside the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium. Motoya rested his elbows on the concrete rail and gazed down at the volleyball court where a match that had sparked their interests was on-going. It was between Shiratorizawa Academy and Inarizaki High School.

Kiyoomi had been the one who suggested that they should watch this particular match, and Motoya had an idea why. It seemed that Kiyoomi had an eye for the Shiratorizawa wing spiker, Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

Kiyoomi had never been the friendly type; it wasn’t a common occurrence for him to _willingly_ approach someone first. That was what he did with his _Wakatoshi-kun_ every single time they met at training camps or tournaments. Motoya didn’t even know when and how they were suddenly on a first-name basis. Truly, it was an amusing thing to witness. 

_Does Kiyoomi-kun_ have a crush? The question had been living in Motoya’s head for quite a while now. It was hard not to question it when he could see it with clarity—the slight crinkle beneath Kiyoomi’s eyes when Ushijima successfully spiked a ball to the other side of the court. _He’s smiling under that mask_. 

Motoya couldn’t stop the question from spilling out of his mouth. “You really like Ushijima-san, don’t you?” 

Kiyoomi turned to look at him, his eyebrow raised. The smile was gone now. “I just think we should be wary of him.”

Motoya deadpanned. His cousin was truly _unbelievable_. “Hmm, sure. So, is there anyone else we should be _wary_ of?”

“There is, actually.” Kiyoomi locked his gaze back at the court. “Miya Atsumu.”

Miya Atsumu. The first-year setter, another person they often met at all the training camps and tournaments back in junior high. There was no doubt that he had always been a formidable player, especially when he had his twin, Miya Osamu, by his side.

“The setter? Well, I guess he’s pretty good.”

“He is much better than the last time we saw him play,” Kiyoomi said with a certain intensity leveled up in his eyes, “and it hasn’t even been that long.”

“Really?” Motoya didn’t realize that Kiyoomi had taken interest in Miya Atsumu too. “I wasn’t paying attention to him that much.”

“You should.”

The match proceeded and they continued to watch in silence. He watched as Inarizaki’s libero received the ball from Shiratorizawa’s serve. It was from their setter, Motoya couldn’t remember the name. He watched, and he observed carefully—how the ball bounced perfectly from the libero’s wrist. Then Miya Atsumu moved too swiftly, almost, as he tossed the ball to the wing spiker. Aran Ojiro, Motoya thought that was his name if he had not been wrong.

The ball managed to slip past the blockers; in an intense line shot, it fell on Shiratorizawa’s side of the court with a loud thud. It was a wonder.

“I want to go against them.” Kiyoomi’s words were barely audible under these noisy crowds, and Motoya had never been more glad to hear them. He wished he could capture the icy look in Kiyoomi’s eyes and frame it to commemorate the moment. Motoya didn’t need confirmation to know that volleyball was no longer only a way for Kiyoomi to kill time.

“Both,” Kiyoomi said, “I want to go against Wakatoshi-kun more, though. But Inarizaki seems… fun too.” 

_Ah, such rare words to hear from a Sakusa Kiyoomi_. Motoya smiled. “Well, then let’s make sure we don’t lose.”

Unfortunately, they didn’t get the chance to go against Shiratorizawa or Inarizaki that year. They all suffered their respective losses before they could step foot on the same court together. Inarizaki won that match against Shiratorizawa and lost in the semi-finals. Itachiyama was no different, losing the third set against Kamomedai High from the Nagano district. 

If they both had won, they would have gone against each other. But they didn’t, and Motoya knew that there was no point in dwelling too much on it. Kiyoomi did too, and they became more excited about the next Interhigh than they were before.

Motoya and Komori were second years, and they stepped out of the court with their team captain, Iizuna Tsukasa, desperately limping behind them. Everything was out of place, completely out of their expectations. First, Ushijima Wakatoshi’s team didn’t even make it to the Interhigh, they were defeated by a team that resembled crows. Second, they lost earlier than they expected—earlier than _anyone_ expected. 

Kiyoomi lost his last chance to go against his fated rival, and he had put in the biggest amount of effort only to be defeated due to a mere accident. He didn’t cry, he never did. But Motoya did. Although the tears he spilled were nowhere near as much as Iizuna’s, the streams were almost enough to suffocate him entirely. He loved to win, and he wanted to taste more of that sweet victory. Kiyoomi was so calm, Motoya almost thought that he didn’t want the same thing as him. _Almost_.

That was before he actually _looked_ at Kiyoomi. The icy gaze was back, ready to form stalactites and pierce through any given soul—Motoya’s, Ushijima’s, and any of their opposing team’s souls. He saw the way Kiyoomi clenched his fist and gritted his teeth. He saw the crescent moon marks left on his sweaty palm. He saw it all, and he realized that Kiyoomi had grown. Kiyoomi had found purpose—he had found something he loved, and something to live for.

When they were finally freed from the burden of high school, Motoya got an offer to join the V League Division 1 team, Eastern Japan Papermills Raijin. He had long determined what he wanted, so he accepted the offer easily and stayed in Tokyo. Kiyoomi got many offers as well—as anyone would expect from Japan’s number one wing spiker. 

If someone had told seven years old Motoya that his little cousin Kiyoomi would earn that title in his third year of high school, he would have laughed. Little Kiyoomi wouldn’t have reacted at all, he would have simply shrugged and dismissed it because _there was no way that could be true_. But life was life, and it always had different plans from what they had anticipated.

Kiyoomi rejected all his offers. He chose to further his formal education and attend college first. 

“I’m not quitting volleyball, if you’re worried about that,” Kiyoomi assured him when they were residing on the balcony of Kiyoomi’s home. How lucky he was to have the dangling surface face west—it became the perfect place to gaze at the evening sky, and he had it all within his reach.

Motoya thought there was a hidden melancholic side to Kiyoomi. If it had not existed, Kiyoomi wouldn’t have spent so much time staring, admiring, and observing at the sky. Or maybe it was merely a way for him to tranquilize his mind, the amount of hustle in there was never good for him. Sadly enough, it seemed that his mind was always busier than the streets. Hence why he felt the need to reassure Motoya that he was not quitting the sport they both loved. 

Motoya had never thought that he would quit. There were too many things Kiyoomi had not finished in this journey, and, again, Kiyoomi was someone who saw things through the very end.

“I’m not worried, and I know you’re not quitting.”

Motoya had already grown into an adult, twenty-three years of age, when he was woken up in the middle of the night by the abrupt sound of a phone call. He thought that it was just Rintarou whose hobby was to bother him at the worst time possible. Or maybe it was Tatsuki and his trouble with sleeping from time to time.

He was surprised to see his dearest cousin’s name stretched across the fluorescent screen. _Weird_. It had been a while since he last heard from Kiyoomi, and Kiyoomi never called him at such a late hour.

“Hello?” 

“Motoya, did I wake you?” Kiyoomi sounded over the speaker. Then there were loud rustling noises too that caused Motoya to cringe in response.

“Well, what do _you_ think?” Motoya spouted out the words in a rather harsh tone. Who could blame him? He was having a peaceful sleep and got interrupted.

“I’m sorry, it’s just—” Kiyoomi stopped in the middle of his words. If he wanted to say something, he hesitated.

“What is it? Just say it.”

“Can I come over?” Kiyoomi paused for a few seconds. “I- I need somewhere to crash. Just until the day after tomorrow. Then I’ll be heading back to Osaka.”

“Kiyoomi—”

“Please, I just- I don’t want to stay here. Not when there’s _them_.”

Kiyoomi didn’t need to elaborate, Motoya knew exactly who he was talking about. Sakusa Haruto and Sakusa Aiko, Kiyoomi’s siblings that had never gotten along with him. They were always there, but it was Motoya who sat down and drew pointless pictures with him. It was Motoya who brought him all those cute stuffed animal toys. It was Motoya who made sure he wasn’t lonely when his parents were busy with business affairs. It was all Motoya, it was never them.

Kiyoomi and Haruto had seven years of age difference; he and Aiko had nine. It was significant but not enough to completely separate them through different times and generations. Maybe it was a choice for them to neglect their younger brother. Or maybe Kiyoomi was just too _different_ —so different that they never knew how to understand him until, eventually, they gave up. Or maybe they never properly _tried_ to understand him, and only Motoya did.

Hate was a strong word; it was not what Motoya felt towards them. He thought _resented_ was a better word for it. He was a firm believer that life wasn’t always determined by fate—each action opened countless paths of future possibilities. Many times he would think of how the present day might be if Haruto or Aiko were kinder to Kiyoomi. Would he be more open? More outgoing? Is less touch averse?

Or maybe Kiyoomi would have been the same all along. Maybe nature was the one who built him like this—perceptive and cautious and… clean. _Overly_ clean.

It didn’t matter. Kiyoomi would never let his flaws obstruct his goals. He wouldn’t let anything obstruct them, not even his siblings. Not after they, along with their parents, opposed his plans to further pursue a volleyball career. Back then, Kiyoomi knew what he wanted, and he didn’t care. _Not anymore_. 

But off-season was still off-season, and family was still family. It was only natural for Kiyoomi to be asked to come home.

“Okay, okay. But… you can’t just disappear, you know. They’ll look for you.”

“It’s fine. I can- I can leave them a note. I’ll say there’s an emergency so… so I have to return to Osaka right away.” 

Kiyoomi sounded desperate—like he truly didn't want to be there. Motoya's heart softened like it always did for Kiyoomi. He didn't know how Kiyoomi always managed to round his edges; perhaps that was the effect of growing up and learning to love certain things together.

Motoya sighed. "Fine, come over."

It took one cup of milk and a few times dozing off on the sofa for Kiyoomi to finally arrive at Motoya’s doorstep. The abrupt sound of the doorbell jolted him awake; he wiped the drool off the corners of his mouth and hurried to let Kiyoomi inside.

They didn’t speak much after despite it being a while since the last time they saw each other. Fatigue had already gotten the best of them. Motoya could have seen more in Kiyoomi’s eyes if he wasn’t so half-lidded himself. That was what happened when you grew up with someone who locked away their heart. You learned to look through their eyes because, at the end of the day, those pools of darkness could only hide so much.

Motoya’s apartment only consisted of one bedroom. He didn’t need any more than that as he was the one who chose to live all by himself. He and Kiyoomi had never been eligible to be called similar, but if there was one thing they could always agree on, it was the irreplaceable serenity of having your own curated space.

They laid down a futon right beside where Motoya’s bed was, Kiyoomi excused himself to the bathroom, and not long after that, they were settled in their respective sleeping spaces. Motoya stared at the ceiling, and, oddly, he didn’t feel as sleepy as he was before.

“So…” Motoya trailed off, turning to his side to check if Kiyoomi was awake. He was; it was dark but not dark enough to hide all of the room’s contents. “What did they do this time?”

Kiyoomi sighed and covered his line of vision with his arm. “Being annoying. They keep asking me questions about my… you know…”

Motoya waited for him to finish but he didn’t say anything else. “Your what, Kiyoomi?”

“My, ugh, life… love life.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“That’s not the bad part, Motoya. They keep asking me if I’ll ever get a real job, or settle down, or get married, or whatever.” 

Kiyoomi let out a sigh of frustration. Motoya knew it was hard to talk about these things out loud, but the number of emotions one could bottle was not a lot. It would only be a matter of time before said emotions turned venomous. Kiyoomi knew this. He had sat through all of Motoya’s lectures after several breakdowns and sudden disappearances. _He knew_.

It took a while before Kiyoomi started to continue—he needed to piece the right words together, after all. “Perhaps insulting is not the right word for it but… they just… they kept telling me to be nicer. I should be friendlier and nicer to other people. I should smile more. I should stop spending so much time on volleyball. I mean, that’s my fucking job! How hard is it to understand? Can you believe them?”

The room was filled with silence once again. 

“Wow.” Motoya struggled to find the right words. “They really never changed.”

“Right. It’s so frustrating. They basically told me to change every aspect about myself or… or I’ll never get a lover.” He paused for a few moments, and he continued in a much lower volume “ _Or I don’t deserve one_.”

Motoya could only chant and repeat a set of words in his head. _Say something, say something, say something, say somethi—damn it, Motoya! Just say something._

“Do you want one?” Motoya asked as he tried his best to observe Kiyoomi’s face under these shards of darkness.

“What?”

“A lover, I mean. Do you want one?”

“Oh. Of course, I do… but…”

“But what?”

Kiyoomi opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. Silence hit them again, and suddenly everything clicked inside Motoya’s head.

“You believe them. You believe what they said about you, didn’t you?”

Kiyoomi muffled a grumbling sound as he pulled his blanket to cover up his face. He turned his back against Motoya—his way of saying that he didn’t want to answer the question.

“Night, Motoya.”

“But, Kiyoomi—”

“Just shut it. I’m tired, let me sleep. We can talk about this again later.”

“Fine”—Motoya turned his back against Kiyoomi as well, and he clutched a pillow tight—“Night, Kiyoomi-kun.”

The next day came, and, surprisingly, Motoya found himself standing amidst racks of clothing in a far too familiar shopping district. He guessed that Kiyoomi would want to hang out with him after a while of not seeing each other. As much as Kiyoomi didn’t want to admit it, Motoya knew that Kiyoomi enjoyed his company as a friend.

He just didn’t expect Kiyoomi to suggest hanging out at a place like Shibuya—a place that contained so many people which always seemed to be the one thing that Kiyoomi hated. But perhaps even someone like Kiyoomi needed a good shopping time once in a while.

“You know, I actually planned to do nothing today,” Motoya said, earlier, when he came out of the bedroom freshly dressed in his favorite ashy sweater tucked in a light-colored pair of jeans. Kiyoomi was already halfway through the door. 

“I don’t care, let’s go,” Kiyoomi said with his usual tone—the one that made him sound like he had the least amount of care in the world.

The next thing he knew is that he was standing in the middle of a large department store with Kiyoomi nowhere within his sight. He supposed that browsing through the selections of clothes wouldn’t hurt, Kiyoomi usually took a while to shop for items. This time, as he was told before they departed, Kiyoomi’s needed item was a new coat for the approaching winter. Surely that was something Kiyoomi would spend a _lot_ of time overthinking about.

It was just his nature to be wary of every single action he took—even the ones that might be deemed as insignificant by others. 

“Motoya. I’m done, let’s go,” Kiyoomi’s voice appeared out of nowhere from behind. Motoya flinched and turned around.

Kiyoomi had a beige-colored trench coat, which beyond doubt was something of his style, resting on his arm. There was something else that caught Motoya’s eyes—the earmuffs, or specifically fox-shaped ear muffs that Kiyoomi held in his hand. Now that was not something that was very Sakusa Kiyoomi. Odd.

“Errr, that’s very unlike you,” Motoya said as he pointed a finger towards Kiyoomi’s hand.

“Oh, this?” Kiyoomi waved the item in the air. “That’s because it is not for me. This one is for Miya.”

“Miya? You mean, Atsumu?” Motoya deadpanned. _Since when Kiyoomi buys things for others? Since when Kiyoomi buys things for Miya Atsumu of all people?_

“Yes, Miya.” Kiyoomi stared at the ear muffs sitting on his palm before continuing to say, “His ears get really red when it’s cold, and… the design… it reminds me of him.”

Motoya wasn’t sure if he heard that correctly, and was that a smile he saw forming on Kiyoomi’s lips?

Kiyoomi loved going to drugstores; Motoya knew that, and he always complied to accompany him to his trips. But this was the third one they had been into, and Kiyoomi still hadn’t bought anything. If he weren’t an athlete who lived through heavy physical training regularly, he would have been exhausted. 

“Dude, what are you even looking for anyway?” Motoya grumbled as he waited for Kiyoomi to find whatever he was looking for. Kiyoomi walked at a steady pace, stealing only quick glances as he passed by different aisles.

“Lotion.”

“Huh?” Motoya was sure that, in the previous stores, he had seen the same bottle Kiyoomi used earlier this morning several times. Kiyoomi had sharp eyes, he must have seen them too. “But we passed by the kind you use in the other stores.”

Kiyoomi turned when he found what seemed like the aisle he was looking for. He crouched down to browse the items. Motoya leaned against the opposite shelves to wait for him.

“I’m finding one for Bo— found it!” Kiyoomi said before finally grabbing something for the shelves. He stood up with the large-sized pump bottle in his hand. “It’s not for me, it’s for Bokuto.”

“Why are you buying lotions of all things for Bokuto?”

“His skin is very sensitive and it gets all cracked up and dry in the winter. I suggested this one to him because the quality is better than the one he uses. But it’s a little pricey and he thinks it isn’t worth it. That idiot,” Kiyoomi said, his face almost looked annoyed. _Almost_ , if it weren’t for the hint of fondness in his facial expression each time he talked about any of his teammates.

“Mmhmm, so you decided to get it for him?”

Kiyoomi’s face scrunched. “Yeah, why?”

Motoya felt a certain kind of warmth surging in his chest. Nobody else would understand how much of an endearing moment this was. But Motoya understood, and he was witnessing it right now. Kiyoomi was no longer latched onto him. Kiyoomi now lived over five hundred kilometers away from him. But the most important part is that Kiyoomi had found his own home there—a home far away from Motoya’s presence. 

Motoya couldn’t stop the smile creeping into his face. “Nothing.” 

The sky was gleaming bright and the day still had a long way to go when they decided to head back. By the age of twenty-two, Kiyoomi had learned to withstand being in crowded places. It was inevitable, his job included him constantly having to go to crowded places—constantly having to be the center of people’s attention. He was pretty much always trained and challenged to stray away from his comfort zones.

They were hastily slipping through people and making their way towards the nearest train station when Kiyoomi abruptly stopped. He turned to stare at the wooden interior of a shop displayed transparently by the glass panes. There were various kinds of decorative flowers and teas lined up on a table pressed against the glass. 

“Hold on, I need to buy something real quick,” Kiyoomi said before hurrying inside the tea shop.

Motoya followed him and stepped in. Immediately, his nostrils are filled with the comforting smell of tea—like how the living room of his childhood home smelled like in a lovely morning. He smiled at the store clerks before walking around to look at the kind of teas the store had to offer. He recalled back to when he still lived in his family home. His mother loved drinking tea and so does he, but they mostly drank only one kind—the classic Japanese green tea. It was quite fascinating to see the wide variety sold in this store. 

After a few minutes of consideration, Motoya decided that he would buy himself a box of ginger tea. The decision was made after the kind store clerk informed him that the kind was good for reducing inflammation. Motoya turned to Kiyoomi and saw that he was holding four identical boxes—all of them labeled the same thing, lemon balm.

“Uhh, that’s a lot of tea,” Motoya pointed out. Kiyoomi opened his mouth to say something but before he could do so, Motoya cut him off. “No wait, let me guess. Those are not for you but for… err… one of your teammates. Am I right?”

“Good guess, you are right.”

“That’s what you’ve been doing all day. So who’s the lucky guy this time?”

“Hinata. he told me he’s been having trouble sleeping lately. Lemon balm tea helps you sleep and also reduces stress and anxiety. Or at least that’s what the article I’ve read told me,” Kiyoomi said, “You should buy one for yourself too.”

Motoya smiled. Sakusa Kiyoomi had grown up. _He had grown up so well_.

“Stop looking at me like that, gross.”

Motoya doesn’t remember the first time he met Kiyoomi, but he does remember everything else. He remembers their first day of elementary school, their first volleyball workshop, their first match, and all of their other firsts. He remembers each and every one of Kiyoomi’s rare appearing waves of laughter or each time he sheds a tear.

Now Motoya stands in the middle of a train station about to wave Kiyoomi goodbye. Tokyo and Osaka still reside in the same country, the same time zone, and the same island. But feelings have never been decipherable, and the only thing he feels right now is how they are about to ascend to their respective realms. Their wings have grown fully, all bright and fluttering and glorious—no longer needing the high maintenance they once provided each other.

“We’re here,” Motoya says when they reach the front of the gates. 

Kiyoomi turns to face Motoya. One hand of his clutches the grip of his cabin suitcase and the other one is safely tucked in the pocket of his jacket.

“Well, guess I’ll see you later,” Kiyoomi says blankly. He pulls out his pocketed hand to give Motoya a small wave with that permanent poker face of his. Sometimes, Motoya wishes that Kiyoomi will be more expressive for once in his lifetime.

Motoya clutches his stomach and laughs.“You asshole, not even gonna give me a hug?” 

“No. We’ve been through crowds of people, you’d be too dirty right now.”

“Alright, alright. Let me give you a pat at least.” Motoya extends an arm to give Kiyoomi a few pats on his shoulder. Kiyoomi doesn’t flinch or resists. “Well then, goodbye. Good luck out there, Kiyoomi-kun.”

Kiyoomi waves a little bit more, and so does Motoya. But when he walks away dragging his suitcase, his feet growing closer and closer to the gates that will take him away, the words slip out of Motoya’s mouth before he can stop himself.

“Wait, Kiyoomi—”

Kiyoomi stops in his tracks and turns back. “What is it?”

Motoya opens his mouth, and it hangs open for a few seconds. He doesn’t know why he stopped Kiyoomi, there’s something heavy hanging from his chest—something that he badly wants to say to the curly-haired man in front of him. But the words got stuck, and he’s not sure how to break them free of the chains binding them.

“Motoya, my train is about to leave soon. If you have something to say then just say it.”

“I…” _Kiyoomi-kun, I’m sad that we grew up so fast but I’m glad you’re doing well. I’m so proud of you for how far you’ve come. I’m glad I got the chance to grow up with you and I_ — 

“Motoya,” Kiyoomi warned.

“I think… you’ll be a great lover.”

There’s a subtle change in Kiyoomi’s expression—his nose scrunches itself and his eyes widen themselves a little. Motoya hopes that it’s a good sign. 

It comes as a great relief when Kiyoomi pulls his mask down and flashes Motoya a smile.

“Thank you, Motoya. You too.”

**Author's Note:**

> i have a few things to say. this is my first attempt at a gen fic as well as a character study so if it doesn't fulfill your expectations then i fully apologize (i tried my best ok). i was very hesitant about posting this and i almost decided that i won't-- mainly because i wasn't sure if i did kiyoomi and motoya any sort of justice. there are things, a lot of things, that are my own interpretations of kiyoomi's character that i want to successfully portray and this is my best attempt.
> 
> also, thank you to my friend, [nala](https://twitter.com/primavura), for being so kind to beta read this fic for me as well as encouraged me to publish. they also made the graphics for this which is included in the fic promo you can find [here](https://twitter.com/atsukiyoo/status/1349645709482446852). go check it out !!
> 
> so if you made it until the very end, thank you so much for reading. if you think there are other content warnings i should add, please do tell me, and feel free to leave your thoughts down bellow. if you want to find me on twitter i am [@atsukiyoo](https://twitter.com/atsukiyoo)


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